


Atone

by maq_moon



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Canon-ish, Gen, Jupiter Ascending Fic Challenge, Nightmares, Pre-Movie(s), don't know but i love her, even when Kalique is evil she's so peppy, is it a character strength or flaw?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5033959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maq_moon/pseuds/maq_moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kalique is plagued by nightmares that her mother can't send away. </p>
<p>{{Jupiter Ascending Fic Challenge 5- Ghost Story}}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atone

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-film.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :3

**Atone**

            I didn't always have nightmares. If anyone were to ask, I still don't. When I wake up screaming, the servitant or splice who comes to see to my safety is liquidated by morning.

            I don't have them often, thankfully. I hate waking up panting, disoriented, soaked in sweat, and lost in the past. My morning bath is drawn, and I keep my head under a little longer than is wise. I have to tell my attendants to scrub my skin extra-hard those mornings, sometimes until it's red and raw. The silky bathwater sooths it almost immediately, and perhaps that's part of the persisting problem.

            I have a theory that my pumice flagellation is hardly enough, for the nightmares last well into the day. I learned long ago, many thousands of years ago, that I can get nothing done on these days. I delegate everything to Maledictes, who gives a superior performance. He was a gift from my mother, and a greater gift I have never been given. I have expressly forbidden him from coming to me when I shriek in the night. He asks no questions on those mornings, just nods and says, "Yes, Lady Kalique" in that slow, even drawl. He has never asked, not once. He has an excellent sense of self-preservation.

            When my skin is pink and my business is in the hands of my clever little Splice, I go to one of the shrines. I have one in each wing of each of my alcazars. They're not enough, no more than my scoured skin, and the stench of frankincense is heady. I would ask my elder brother how he handles it, but, well... his nightmares are probably different than mine, and I know a few things that he doesn't. Perhaps I ought to actually clothe the statues rather than just have stone garments carved. She liked flowing fabrics; maybe something gossamer? Would that please her enough?

            Sometimes I eat a blood orange, which she loved, or drink her favorite tea even though I despise it. I have the synthetics play her favorite songs. I occasionally- rarely- view old recordings of when she was alive. Most of the time I detest looking at her face with its vibrant colors. This was before I knew I cared for her, before she stopped making me hate her. Yet I watch as she laughs with my brothers, catches dragonflies and puts them in jars. I liked to observe the captive dragonflies, stick my hands in their cages. Maybe they truly bit, or maybe my imagination has made them bite my hands, but when they hurt me I would rip off their shining wings. The creatures lived, if one can call that living, and I collected those beautiful wings until there wasn't a color I didn't have. One of the recordings shows her discovering me stripping the insects; her painted face flushed and she smacked each of my hands with a switch. I don't ever watch that one; I don't hate her just now, and seeing that might bring back the bubbling detestation.

            But nothing, _nothing_ , I do to honor her keeps her from sending me the nightmares.

            I expect I deserve them, or did. One would think that she'd stop being so angry about her murder after all this time.

            I wasn't supposed to be the one to do it. She wanted _time_ to kill her. Of all the ways to go, she had to pick the most disgusting. Titus was jaded, as children are wont to be, and thought Mother would simply snap out of it. Balem and I knew better, and only Balem cared.

            Like some disturbed puppy, he followed her everywhere once she announced her decision. She had some newly acquired love of family, so the four of us were together often. She tried to buy my affection, bought pretty little presents for all of us regularly. Titus was charmed, Balem barely kept it together, and me- I accepted her gifts and told servitants to toss most of them out of the airlock.

            Then there came a day when she looked younger. She didn't look _young_ , just young _er_. When she asked Balem if he put RegeneX in her water, she believed him when he said no. His poker face is superb. He kept doing it, sporadically, and Mother began to grow suspicious of Titus because her darling firstborn would never lie to her. I just smiled. I was in on it, of course. I wasn't going to let an Abrasax die of age, and Balem wasn't going to let Mother die at all. But she was determined. What sort of person _wants_ to die, I wondered. It added to my hatred of her. How selfish she was, to leave two children who wanted her to stay when she was completely capable of doing so. How foolish she was to risk our dynastic might on her egocentric desire to die!

            The morning I was presented with Maledictes (Mother had put a bow on his head), I heard the fighting. We're all so temperamental, we Abrasaxes, that a loud argument wasn't out of the ordinary. Still, and to this day I don't know why, I stepped softly and peeked into Mother's board room. A Splice had told her about Balem and the RegeneX. Well, at least my name hadn't come up. I was fit to burst with laughter at their argument, but then Balem did the unthinkable: he struck Mother. She struck him back. I watched with grim fascination, eyes wide, as they traded blows less significant than words, until Mother finally screamed that if he wouldn't do it, she'd ask Titus; perhaps _he_ loved her enough. My brother stilled, asked her why, why, why, and she said _because I'm asking_. He put his hands around her throat, crying. He sobbed like a child until Mother stopped moving, then he cradled her like a babe, muttering unintelligibly.

            I walked in then, more confidently than I felt. He looked at me, eyes red and wet. I told him, not unkindly, that I had seen everything. There were specks of blood on his hands; I pointed them out and told him to clean up and calm down. He was naturally suspicious. I told him the truth: he was the best suited to run the business, and we couldn't very well have him taken away. I said I'd take care of everything, and I did.

            The board room footage was conveniently scrambled, the audio missing. The synthetic running the control room had a bit of a 'malfunction'. One of the newer splices was found with Mother's DNA on its claws. Anyone within earshot conveniently had fatal accidents.

            The biggest problem happened when it was time to 'find' Mother.

            She was breathing.

            I looked away as I held my own dainty hands around her throat. I must have held them there for an hour, for I know I kept them there long after she was dead. Then I screamed until my throat was raw and every creature in the alcazar was at my mother's body.

            Does she haunt me for killing her? I don't think so. She wanted to die. Maybe it's because I've gone on letting my dear brother believe he murdered her.

            If I could just find the right atonement, maybe the nightmares will go away.

            Strangely, the nightmares aren't of my hands being slapped or of her lifeless eyes. Mother is alive, wearing her favorite blue gown, and she says to me, "Kalique, my diamond, I love you." Then she presses a kiss to my forehead and tells me stories. But it is the end of the dream that makes it a nightmare. "Everyone ages, my diamond, even pretty little girls. I'll see you soon."


End file.
